


Quote Compendium

by Dicax_Asina



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Grieving, The good boi deserves hugs and he gets em, also flower crowns, hank is dead, it’s all about that fluff + hints of angst, mutual love and support, you help Connor get over him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-07 21:14:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 12,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16416074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dicax_Asina/pseuds/Dicax_Asina
Summary: August 4th, 2056. That was the day Hank had died of a heart attack. The day Connor's loneliness had started.To commemorate said date, or, in a hopeless attempt to take his mind off of it, Connor has started an ongoing tradition of getting in Hank's old car and driving off to wherever the road would take him. This time, fate has led him to an old, shabby diner at a roadside - (y/n)'s working place.





	1. Chapter 1

Even twenty-one years into deviancy, Connor couldn't exactly say he had a strong opinion regarding things. Sure, he despised Gavin, he enjoyed Markus' presence, he had a soft spot for dogs. But Connor couldn't say he'd ever hated something, with every fibre of his being, in a manner that made his blood boil at the very thought of it.

That was, until Hank died. 

That specific day, August 4th 2056, was still engraved into his mind, like burn marks on a piece of wood, or holes in a piece of metal. It wasn't something that he could remove. Just something he could hope to ignore. And God, if there was one thing Connor hated, absolutely abominated, it was the sentiment it had left behind.

A feeling of utter emptiness, numb, yet painful, right in the pit of his stomach, below his Thirium pump. Of course its intensity fluctuated. Sometimes, when Connor would be out in town, walking around aimlessly with Markus, North, Simon and Josh, it'd barely be there, like a soft string tied to his wrist and tugging him away from the other Androids' company, into a solitude he didn't want, but at the same time, needed. Other times, it was intense, like a punch in the gut, (one much more forceful than Gavin could ever muster) especially whenever Connor looked at pictures of Hank, or Sumo, or even Cole. And to think it had been present for the past three years—it was pathetic, Connor knew that. He had heard it enough times from Gavin.

So there he was: trying to escape said feeling, driving Hank's old car. Where to? He had no idea.

His yearly, one-day road trips seemed to be growing into a tradition of sorts, perhaps an act of commemoration. This was the third time he was doing it, and Connor had to admit it was calming. 

The car still smelled of the car freshener Hank used back when he was alive, Connor had specifically taken care of that. He had bought exactly twenty-seven pine-tree scented packages of said brand as soon as the familiar, nostalgic smell started fading.

But it wasn't the same. It smelled synthetic, fake, and too perfect, unlike the scent he had grown accustomed to for years, which contained traces of bitter cigar ash, a subtle, salty smell of junk food, and gunpowder. The mix used to be...alive, even somehow told a story, unlike the current one. 

Nothing was the same ever since Hank had passed away.

With a mechanical grunt, Connor focused back on the dotted white highway lines disappearing under the hood of his car as he accelerated.

The speed was maintained a stable 80 km/h. The minutes flew by without Connor noticing, and before he knew, something in the corner of his eye caught his attention.

Aaron's 24/7 Grilled Fish Diner was written in big, bold letters, suspended on top of a rather small, humble building. The walls were painted in an inviting ivory, and Connor noticed a small lake nestled behind the building. A quick analysis told him it was suspected to be used for pisciculture. 

He urged the car to a slow halt, then guided it inside the parking lot. A break sounded nice. Connor took a quick look at his internal clock, which prompted up the numbers 2:37 AM. Well, hopefully said place wasn't called a 24/7 diner for nothing.

He stopped the car, retrieved the keys, then reached for a black hoodie thrown on the backseat. He slipped said clothing article on: it hung loosely over his lithe frame, and on its back, it displayed a bald man wielding a sword and walking through flames, "Knights of the black death" written in bold letters on top of it. He pulled up the hood, adjusting it just enough to conceal his LED, then made his way into the restaurant. 

Why exactly was he trying to hide that fact that he was an Android? He didn't know. At least not yet.

—

Connor opened the door with ease, stepping inside the humble diner. It was clean and spacious inside, however the furniture and wooden floor's glory days were long gone. That much was clear, even in the dim light of a cheap, flickering lightbulb. On the wall right in front of him, Connor noticed a painting of a fish, hanging above one of the bigger tables in the dining room. All in all, it was welcoming, in spite of the lack of money spent on the interior.

The Android heard voices coming from around the corner of a wall, where he assumed the kitchen was. Connor decided to listen in to the conversation for a bit before making his presence known.

"Darlin', ya know I mean no offense, but you look awful. Go to sleep." An elderly, gentle voice spoke up, soon followed by another.

"What if someone comes in? This is still my shift, and I should be awake." An obviously younger, yet very drowsy voice answered.

"I'll wake you up if someone comes, how's that sound?" The elder suggested.

"You'd do that for me? Agh, you're a godsend. Thank you." He heard a relieved sigh, then the creaking of wood. Steps clattered against the old floor. 

From around the corner appeared a young woman, in her mid-twenties, Connor presumed. He performed a quick face scan.

(Y/n) (l/n)  
Age: 26  
Criminal record: Speeding

She stopped mid-track as soon as she caught a glimpse of him, perplexed and annoyed at the same time.

"Never mind Ollie, there's a customer." She shouted over her shoulder, then turned her attention back to Connor, who was still speechless. "Hello."

"Hi." Connor spoke, dumbfounded. There was something ...different about her. Connor had seen enough females in his lifetime, whether that implied human females, or Androids designed to be as aesthetically pleasing as possible. Yet none of them had left him so...fascinated.

"Any preferences for tables? We're kinda full at the moment." She joked with a hint of sarcasm, nodding at the soullessly empty dining room. Connor picked up on her irony rather quickly. Spending 18 years around Hank did have its advantages when it came to understanding irrational human behavior.

"Not exactly." He answered. A tired, yet playful smile tugged on her lips as she rested one hand on her hip.

"Good. Follow me, then."


	2. Chapter 2

Connor slumped down at the table the young woman had indicated, watching her fetch a menu for him.

From the other side of the room, pushing open a heavy door, appeared another older, rather chubby woman, with warm, gentle facial features.

Olivia Fern  
Age: 62  
Criminal Record: None

For a second, he could almost hear Hank's gruff voice echo in his mind. The old man would've probably already told him off for scanning everyone and everything around him. If he were still alive, of course.

With a mechanical sigh, Connor looked away, staring at the wooden surface of the table in front of him.

He picked up on the two women chattering silently, barely enough for him to be able to make out something. Not like he wanted to, anyways. He was far too focused on the ache that was starting to settle in his chest again.

He failed to notice the menu being placed on his table, nor the young woman waiting for a few solid seconds for him to move, say, or at least do something.

"May I take your orde-" Connor was almost startled by the sudden sound of the girl's voice, so close to him. Well, close meaning at the edge of his table, but still, in closer proximity than he remembered her being. She stopped in the middle of her sentence, her drowsy, bored expression changing into one of genuine worry. "Are you...alright?"

"Me?" Was the most intelligent reply Connor could muster, only then noticing how his voice trembled at every consonant. "Yes, I...of course."

Connor frowned when she began digging through the pockets of her apron, fishing out a white tissue. "Here." She spoke gently, holding it out to him.

Connor was about to ask what for, when a small droplet plopped onto the table in front of him, soon followed by another. He wasn't crying, was he?

In utter disbelief, he brought his hand up to his cheek, brushing his fingertips over the synthetic skin. He was. He actually was crying.

"Thank you." He mumbled, taking the tissue from the girl standing beside his table.

"You wanna talk about it?" She asked carefully, not moving from where she was standing. "The name uh, is (y/n), by the way. In case you didn't notice." She pointed to a name tag on her apron, following her statement with a well-meaning, awkward half-smile.

"My name is Connor." The Android answered, wiping away his tears as quickly as possible, then folding the tissue neatly and placing it on the table. What had he gotten himself into? Why did he even stop at this diner? And why was he crying? Embarrassing himself in front of a stranger? "I apologize for my behavior."

"No, no it's fine. Everyone needs to break every once in a while." She shrugged her shoulders and rested her hand on the back of a chair that was across the table from Connor. "There's no shame in crying. Would you like to talk about it? I don't mean to brag or anything, but I'm a good listener."

He shook his head yes, watching (y/n) sit down across from him and gaze at his face with both worry and curiosity.

"Take your time, I've got plenty." She assured him with a sincere smile. "I could fetch you something in the meantime. Coffee, tea, grilled fish?"

"No, thank you. I don't..." He sighed, and decided to not bother explaining his nature to her, opting to lower his hood instead. A yellow  light illuminated the room as soon as he did so. 

"Huh, an Android." (Y/n) stated, tilting her head. "So no food or drinks then. Could've said that sooner." She moved away the menu from the table, then shifted her gaze back to him.

"I apolog-"

"No worries, I was joking." She said. "You know what really helps me when I feel like absolute garbage?"

Connor shook his head sideways. He knew his voice-box had a tendency to malfunction when he was overweighed by emotions, and decided not to use it.

"A road trip." (Y/n) smiled. "And lucky you, I've got nowhere to go. What do you say?"

Was that...an invitation? A suggestion to go with him? Connor couldn't deny the fact that her presence was rather refreshing, and that it was nice to talk to a stranger. Someone that had little or nothing to do with his past—kind of like a different chapter.

So he gave in.

"I'd very much like your company."

—

Only minutes later, he and (y/n) were outside the shabby diner, the young woman carrying a backpack that Connor guessed contained her necessities. Wordlessly, she followed him inside the empty parking lot, to Hank's old car. Connor flinched when she hurried towards it, passing him.

"Whoah, haven't seen any of these in a long time. Old cars are so pretty, aren't they?" She asked, inspecting the black, old vehicle. "I'll take it you're more of an old school kind of guy?"

He didn't know how to answer. His so-called 'style' had obviously been heavily influenced by Hank, maybe he could even go as far as saying that it was a copy of his father figure's.

"Not...necessarily." Connor tried to explain, unlocking the vehicle and seating himself behind the steering wheel. Only seconds later, (y/n) plopped down beside him.

While Connor drove out of the small parking lot, the young woman was curiously looking around, inspecting her surroundings.

"Pine trees?" She asked after taking a small whiff. A smile settled on her features. The Android could only guess that she liked it—and in a strange way, it made him...happy. A fuzzy feeling, deep inside his chest. Something he hadn't felt in a long time.

"Pine trees." Connor confirmed, unable to resist the temptation of smiling too. It was almost unbelievable that a stranger, someone he had met exactly 18 minutes ago, could already cause such bliss.

Connor couldn't have asked for better company.


	3. Chapter 3

"Can I have a look?" The young woman pointed at the collection of Hank's CDs between their seats. Only then Connor realized how little he had listened to music in the past three years.

"Of course." He nodded, ignoring the way his wires felt like they were twisting in his abdomen. There it was again. That dreadful sentiment, pressing down on his shoulders and numbening around his Thirium pump.

Silently, while Connor focused on the road, avoiding small bumps here and there, struggling to ignore said feeling, she got to work between their seats.

"Jazz!" (Y/n) exclaimed, pulling out one album and inspecting it closer. She set it in her lap, then resumed her search. "Rock, too. And— Oooh, noo. No way."

Struggling to identify if her reaction was one of disbelief, or one of disgruntlement, Connor raised a brow at her, momentarily taking his eyes off the road.

And almost choked on thin air when he saw her holding Hank's favorite album. 

"Corrupted Deathwhisper." (Y/n) read the title out loud. "By Knights of the Black Death. Hoo, boy, my dad used to love these guys! I remember one time he-"

"Could you...put it back?" Connor asked, only then taking note of how...pained his voice sounded.

"No need to get embarrassed about your music tastes. I mean, I'd never taken you for a dark heavy metal guy, but I'm not-"

"Please put it back." Connor asked again. God, he sounded absolutely pathetic, didn't he?

"Sorry." She complied quickly, storing it back between the seats, then put the other albums back too. "I wasn't-"

"It's okay." He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. To cool down his overworking processor, Connor took a deep, calming breath.

"You okay there?"

"I apologize, but I..." Connor bit his lip, at loss of words. So far, he had really enjoyed her company. The last thing he wanted to do was drive (y/n) away.

But then again, that's what he always did, wasn't it? Scare people away. He had betrayed Amanda, betrayed Cyberlife, accidentally destroyed Jericho, and so many other little things. And yet he had been forgiven, always. By Hank, by Markus, by Cyberlife... He didn't deserve any of it.

"Just say no if you don't want me to play it." She assured him, interrupting his chaotic string of thoughts.

Connor took a deep breath before solemnly saying a meek, whispered: "No."

"There you go." (Y/n) smiled, leaning back in the leather car seat. "Feels...liberating to straight up say no sometimes, doesn't it?"

Liberating, yes. He supposed that was an adequate word. In spite of his deviancy, the times when Connor acted entirely based on free will had been rare. But he had to admit it felt wonderful, like something heavy had been lifted off his chest, or like entering a cold room after walking in the heat for too long. Soothing.

He nodded.

"I love this. Just...the idea of listening to your thoughts for once. Speaking out exactly what goes through your mind." (Y/n) explained, her gaze trained on the road in front of them, taking in the scenery. "Feels childlike at the same time too."

"Childlike?" Connor asked, brows furrowing. Sure, he hadn't exactly interacted with many children, but he couldn't tell what exactly was supposed to be puerile about honesty.

"Yeah. Like, when you're a kid, you can't even be bothered to make up lies. Whatever goes through your head also gets said." She shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly. "Makes things easier."

"Hm." Maybe she was right, Connor thought to himself. When it came to trivial things, honesty was a much appreciated trait. However other times, lying seemed more...adequate. To avoid a certain conflict, for instance. Not like Connor was or had ever been particularly good at lying, though.

(Y/n) only offered a whimsical smile as a response, then turned her attention to their surroundings. They were passing through an open, rural area with fields reaching as far as they could see.

She rested her head against the window, then spoke up. 

"Tell me about yourself, Connor." (Y/n)'s voice was soft, yet had a certain playful, curious undertone. Upon noticing that he was silent, the continued. "Anything. As trivial or as specific as you want."

Connor decided it'd be easiest to start with his job.

"Well, I...I work for the Detroit Police Department. I have recently been promoted to the rank of Sergeant, and I focus on homicide, both human and Android cases."

"Woah, that's so cool. Makes my part time job as a waitress sound really boring, doesn't it? Not like it isn't anyways." She looked at him in pure awe for a few more seconds, watching the way he avoided her gaze. Connor didn't exactly receive compliments often, and was quite horrible at accepting them. "So, an Android detective...where have I heard that before?"

"I was a part of the Android revolution 21 years ago. That could explain...how you've heard of me."

"Oh, so I take it you were one of the Android messiah's buddies?"

"No, I...I was the deviant hunter."

"Oh."

Silence plagued Connor's car.

He had done it again, hadn't he? Ruined every single chance of becoming her friend. Connor was already expecting for (y/n) to ask to be dropped off at the side of the road or something of the sort.

"Didn't know I had the honor of speaking to the Deviant Hunter himself." She broke the silence, causing Connor to shift his gaze back towards her. "Or, as my history books described him-" She lowered her voice, and as far as Connor could tell, she was mocking the tone of an overly dramatic narrator. "The lonely, ruthless machine that hunted deviants tirelessly, like a bloodhound looking for prey."

She completed her sentence with a chuckle. It was comforting to know that although the history textbooks had gone slightly overboard with his characterization, (y/n) still had a different opinion about him. Hopefully.

"While I was ruthless, I don't think lonely would be adequate. I have— I used to have a partner. Hank Anderson."

"Tell me about him." (Y/n) demanded, resting her hands in her lap and looking at Connor in a way he couldn't...explain. So whimsical, yet also soft, and understanding—absolutely alluring. "What's he like?"

"A hard-boiled, eccentric police Lieutenant." Connor explained half-heartedly, swallowing down a mouthful of synthetic saliva. There it was—that lump in his throat, that emptiness in his chest.

"I'd like so meet him sometime."

"He's...Hank's dead."


	4. Chapter 4

"I'm sorry." (Y/n) spoke carefully after a few seconds.

"It's alright." The Android shrugged his shoulders, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. If there was one thing he was not going to do, it was getting emotional. (Y/n) had already seen him cry only 34 minutes ago, and he was not planning on showing his pathetic side again. Not anytime soon, and especially not around her. She had no fault in his current situation, and probably the last thing she wanted to do was provide moral support for an emotionally unstable deviant. (Y/n) had done so much for him already.

"Do you want to talk about it or change the subj-"

"Change the subject." Connor demanded perhaps a bit too hastily. However she didn't seem to mind his tone.

"Okay, let's see. Is there anything you'd like to know about me? If you haven't figured it out with your detective senses already?"

Connor took a deep, calming breath. Trying to chase away all his painful thoughts about Hank, his self-deprecation, his guilt—

"Any detail is fine." He said, looking back at her. (Y/n) had rested her elbow against the car window and propped her head against it. The way she had positioned her face, her hand slightly pressed against her cheek, squishing her lips together as she smiled childishly. Connor didn't have many visual preferences, but this was certainly one of them. She looked positively gorgeous like this—messy and natural. "As trivial or as specific as you want." He added, imitating her words from only a few minutes ago.

Her grin grew even wider as soon as she caught onto it.

"Well, I want to become a (dream job). I came to Detroit for college, and I work at my uncle's diner during the weekends, and on Friday evenings. I like...hmm." (Y/n) chewed on her lip as she began thinking, and Connor had to tear his gaze away from her to focus back on the road. "I like books. The ones made of paper, even though they're rare."

Hank had, too. And to some extent, so did Connor. He didn't have strict preferences about how he received information, but had to admit that there was a certain...something about the smell of old paper and the way it brushed against his fingers when he would flip a page.

"What kind?" Connor asked, without even putting much thought into his sentence. How unusual of him to do so, he remarked silently.

"I'll read anything as long as it's interesting. Thriller, romance, science fiction, fantasy, detective, you name it." She shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly. "What about you?"

"The genre I found myself enjoying the most is-"

"Wait, wait!" She waved her hands, interrupting his sentence. Connor tilted his head. Had he said something wrong? "Can I try guessing?"

Oh.

"Of course." Connor nodded his head, smiling to himself. It was almost endearing to listen to her talk. So human, so uncalculated, sloppy, and yet magical at the same time. She had that certain unpredictability Connor lacked, but he couldn't say he didn't enjoy adapting to her.

"Okay, lucky guess: Detective novels."

"Not quite. Those are my second favorite kind."

(Y/n) leaned back in her chair, brows furrowed. "Spill the beans, then."

Connor revised his words, and the answer he wanted to give. He knew his preference was embarrassing—Hank had told him many times, after all. But there was something about (y/n)...that made Connor unable to lie.

"Drama." He answered.

"Noooo way." She whispered in wonder, bouncing in her seat. "Drama? The ruthless Deviant Hunter, the homicide-solving police Sergeant has a knack for drama. Now that's a plot twist. Why?"

"Why not? They showcase human behavior, though admittedly, sometimes hyperbolically, and make it easy to understand." Connor explained, slowing down the car in the slightest before admitting: "They played a big role in my integration."

"Okay, which one's your favorite, then?"

"The Shakespearean plays were enjoyable, and Hank almost had all of them. Macbeth was...quite engaging to read."

"Oh, yeah, I know that one." (Y/n) smiled, then cleared her throat. " 'Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player'."

Eyes going round, almost like an excited puppy's, Connor couldn't help but gaze at her in awe for a few moments. The fact that she knew his favorite play, and that she actually knew it well enough to recite a short excerpt, it made him feel something. Sweet warmth and fuzziness swelled in his chest as he rushed to complete her sentence.

" 'That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more; it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.' Exactly."

(Y/n) was grinning widely, sinking lower into the car seat while still looking at him. She cuddled into her clothes, tilting her head to rest it against the window on her right.

"That's the best Shakespearean quote out there, period." (Y/n) still hadn't stopped smiling, however Connor could identify a certain dreamy drowsiness in her eyes. "I remember back when I was like 16 or something. I would research quotes everywhere I could. Books, online articles, songs—anything. And whenever I found something I liked, I wrote it down on my arm until I got home. After that, I'd take a small slip of paper, write it down there, and tape it to my bedroom wall."

Connor couldn't deny that it sounded like a wonderful idea. Surrounding yourself with words it seemed, well, somehow magical. 

"Do you think I could do that as well?"

"What? Tape quotes to your bedroom walls?"

"Yes."

"Why not?" She shrugged tiredly, a yawn following her sentence. "I could write you a Quote Compendium of my favorites. Or we could start looking for new ones right now. You got a notebook and a pen?"

Connor's brows furrowed. Of course he didn't. After all, he had left home in a hurry to get away, and had only taken the bare minimum with him.

"No."

"Hmm, maybe we c-" A yawn cut off her sentence again. "Sorry, I wanted to say that maybe we could buy some. Like at a gas station or something."

Before she had properly finished her sentence, Connor promptly announced: "The nearest gas station is only 7 minutes away. I'll drive us there."

"Traveling with an Android is much more useful than I thought." The young woman giggled to herself.


	5. Chapter 5

"This is it." Connor announced as he drove into the parking lot.

"And it's been exactly 7 minutes, just like you predicted." (Y/n) added, taking a quick look at the time displayed right above the car radio. "Impressive."

"It's nothing." Connor just shook his head. Was (y/n) really impressed by his mere ability of predicting traffic and arrival times?

"Hey, Connor?" (Y/n) interrupted his thoughts, her voice low and groggy. 

"Yes?"

"Could I wait in the car? I'm dead tired." She stretched out her arms as much as the cramped car allowed her to, her back emitting a soft crack. Her slow, groggy movements reminded him of Sumo—the Saint Bernard that was always tired, yet at the same time, inexplicably adorable. Oh, how much he had mourned Sumo after his death.

Connor shook his head. He shouldn't be thinking of the past. All that mattered was the present— and that included (y/n), too.

The Android had almost forgotten that, and felt a slight pang of shame in his chest. How careless of him! It was almost 5 AM, and after all (y/n) had been working on a night shift before offering to go with him. It obviously made sense that she was exhausted. Connor's quick scan of her face only confirmed it.

"Of course." He nodded. "Is there anything else you'd like me to buy? Other than a notebook and a pen?"

(Y/n) shrugged her shoulders and shook her head sideways.

"Alright. I won't take longer than 10 minutes."

"I know you won't." She smiled at him cheekily, then closed her eyes, sinking into the seat. She looked...peaceful and blissful at the same time.

—

Connor was struggling to decide between a plain black notebook or a red one. They were both from the exact same brand, had the same price, same quality, and, yes, perfectly similar components. 

There was no criteria other than the color.

Would (y/n) prefer black? Or red? Black was, as far as Connor knew, classier, and more serious. Red, on the other hand signified strong feelings, such as love, anger—

What was he doing, analyzing the symbolisms of colors?

It didn't only sound, but also probably was stupid of him to do so. Yet, at the same time, Connor couldn't help it.

"Sir, you've been staring at those notebooks for a solid 6 minutes now. Like, I don't wanna judge or anything, but it's 5 am." The cashier spoke up, causing Connor to almost drop both objects. Startled, the android glanced in the man's direction, realizing that he hadn't even acknowledged his presence up until then. The cashier was about 17 years old, Connor approximated, and looked, as an entirety, completely awry. "And most people don't come to gas stations at 5 AM to stare at notebooks."

"I can't decide between red and black." Connor explained out loud. 

"Well, just pick one randomly." The cashier suggested, propping his elbow up on the counter and resting his head up as he watched Connor with a bored expression.

"Are there any other designs?"

"Nah, don't think so." He shrugged, brows furrowing as he seemed to be thinking. "Or maybe..."

He stepped out from behind the cash register, walking over to the Android groggily. Connor got the hint quickly and stepped away from the shelf, letting the cashier dig through it. After moving aside multiple rows of black and red notebooks, he finally picked out one.

"Here." He held it out for Connor, who took it from him, inspecting the cover. Red with black polka dots. How fitting.

"Thank you."

"Yup." The cashier nodded and returned to the register.

Following hin mechanically, Connor looked around himself, his eyes landing on an array neck pillows. That would be beneficial not only for (y/n)'s sleeping position, but her back as well.

He took one off the shelf, analyzing the components. It contained viscoelastic foam, covered in polyester. It was soft, yet dense enough to provide proper support for a human head.

Starting to get just a little carried away, Connor continued his search, going through the ingredients of multiple snacks and choosing the ones that seemed the most healthy while also dodging allergens. Not an easy task, but then again, he was an Android detective.

Tucking the pillow under his arm, holding the notebook and snacks in the other, Connor returned to the counter, grabbing a bottle of water on his way there as well.

"That all?" The cashier asked.

"Yes."

—

Only a minute later, Connor was making his way towards the car with all items in his arms, struggling not to drop anything on his way there. He opened the back seat first, storing all the snacks there, then made his way to the front seat.

"(Y/n), I decided to buy you a-" He cut himself off upon realizing that she was fast asleep. Her neck was bent in an almost impossible way as she had cuddled against the old leather seat.

(Y/n) was breathing slowly and peacefully, her expression melted into blissful unawareness Connor found endearing to look at. Occasionally, her brows twitched, furrowing in the slightest. 

The Android could only guess that she was dreaming something. Human minds never ceased working until their death—whether the body was resting or not, the brain was always active, and that was fascinating. Well, to Connor, at least. When he would go into standby mode, nothing happened in his processors other than his internal clock counting the seconds that passed by. Humans, on the other hand—they dreamed. When they were unconscious, their imagination would make up the wildest fantasies, and the best part was that they could experience them without even knowing it was just their own mental creation. During the time they spent in REM sleep, they thought it was real.

Connor wished he could experience some sort of similar unawareness, even if it would be only for a few hours.

Careful not to disturb her sleep, he brushed one hand under her chin, lifting (y/n)'s head just enough to place the other one on her cheek. Slowly, gently, he placed the pillow around her neck, and settled her back down onto the car seat. The young woman seemed to be sitting more comfortably now, he noted with a warm tingling in his chest.

Unaware of what he was doing, Connor reached to brush a strand of hair away from the young woman's forehead, smiling fondly before realizing what exactly he was doing. What was he doing?!

He pulled away immediately, placing both hands on the steering wheel and wrapping them around it tightly. As if he were afraid his body would disobey him again and act on free will.

His thoughts were interrupted by a shifting (y/n), who nuzzled her cheek into the travel pillow, small smile tugging on her lips.

It felt good to take care of someone, Connor concluded as something similar to a soft electric current coursed through his wires.


	6. Chapter 6

Connor's life couldn't exactly be described as peaceful—his sole purpose had been to hunt deviants after all. His entire existence was, quite literally, a spiral of danger and death at every case he investigated.

So, no, not exactly tranquil.

Not like Connor minded, though. He was an Android, which meant that he never got tired. He had no need for rest, or peace.

But in rare moments like these, when he could enjoy the pitter-patter of light rain drumming against the car windows, and listen to (y/n)'s fragile breathing, Connor had to admit that peacefulness still had its appeal.

Yes, even in spite of his tireless nature.

He slowed down the car, as if he hoped to slow down time as well. He wanted for this to last forever, or for as long as it possibly could. Reluctantly, Connor's gaze found its way back onto (y/n)'s face.

Hank had always been grumpy, and that included his subconscious too — the old man would frown even in his sleep. (Y/n), on the other hand, was so soft, so vulnerable, and Connor almost felt like he was intruding on something extremely personal just by occasionally looking at her sleeping figure.

The sun was rising, painting her face with the most lovely patters he had ever seen, a harmony of dark orange and the ebony shadows. It was mesmerizing in the most wonderful way. Connor had to refrain himself from reaching out to brush his fingers through her awry hair. Slowly but surely, the bloody orange was fading into a pastel yellow as time flew by. Connor had lost track of almost all of his surroundings, only focusing on the road from time to time. He had no idea where they were going, but then again, did it really matter?

(Y/n)'s chest rose and fell along with her breaths, and she occasionally made small sounds. Connor could only guess it was because of something she was dreaming. Shadows formed on the bridge of her nose as she scrunched it up, crease forming between her brows, lashes trembling. Was she having a nightm-

"Achoo!" 

Startled by her sneeze, Connor couldn't help but stare at her for a few seconds.

"Good morning, (y/n)." He answered upon conducting a scan to make sure that she really had woken up. Her heart rate was steadily increasing, and her breaths were deeper and livelier.

"Hm? Where..." Her expression was that of utter confusion at best as she scanned her surroundings with half-lidded eyes. The young woman yawned, her brain having processed the situation she was in. "Oh. Connor, good morning."

He smiled softly at her drowsy, lost expression: her brows still raised cluelessly as she looked at him through hooded lashes.

"How did you sleep?" He asked.

"Good. My neck doesn't hurt at a-" She brought her hands up to her collarbone, then steadily moved them upwards, finally stumbling across the pillow. In slight wonder, she removed it from around the juncture of her neck, giving it a quick look before her eyes found Connor's. " 's this yours?"

"Well, technically, not exactly— I...bought it for you. At the gas station. I figured it could be beneficial for your neck alignment while you rested, and that it could contribute to avoiding potential backaches." Connor explained, not daring to hold her gaze. However he could clearly hear her huff in amusement.

"You're a godsend, Connor. Seriously. Thank you."

He could only nod. Why was he getting nervous...over someone thanking him? Something so utterly mundane.

"For how long did I sleep?" (Y/n) asked as she stored the pillow in her lap, starting to stretch out her legs as much as the car seat allowed her to.

"Well, you fell asleep roughly at 5:10 AM. So, about 5 hours."

"That should be enough for me to function." She smiled. "Bet it's nice to not have to sleep at all, huh?"

"It's mostly beneficial, yes." Connor confirmed.

"Hey, think we could, like...stop by somewhere so I can get food? I mean, I'm in no hurry, but some breakfast sounds nice right now." (Y/n) explained in an almost shy manner. Almost as if she was afraid of being a nuisance, even. Connor couldn't understand why, but refrained from asking, and instead opted for telling her something else.

"I've taken care of that as well. Feel free to check the backseat and find something that suits your tastes." He gestured behind himself, to which the young woman's eyes seemed to light up.

"You. Are. A godsend." She repeated it almost like a mantra, a big, goofy smile spreading across her oh-so-alluring features. Connor almost found himself staring at her dreamily.

"You've mentioned that before." The Android rushed to answer, hoping to cover up the fact that he had been wordless for quite a few moments. It certainly was embarrassing to know that someone he had met a few hours ago already felt this...familiar, this homely, this comforting. Wordlessly watching her unbuckle her seatbelt and bend in an unnatural angle towards the backseat, reaching for the snacks, Connor could only pry his gaze away from her for the nth time and focus back on the road.

"Oh, come on." (Y/n) sighed seconds later, voice slightly strained from her current position.

"Is something the matter?"

"No junk food?" She answered with a question.

'It's not healthy for you', he wanted to say, but couldn't. The words just refused to leave his mouth, as if they had gotten stuck in a forming knot in his throat. Hank had an affinity for making unhealthy choices when it came to his meals too. That seemed to be a trait they both shared—their impulsiveness. Or the love for an uncalculated diet, he supposed.

The risks of poor nutrition include:

•being overweight or obese.  
•tooth decay.  
•high blood pressure.  
•high cholesterol.  
•heart disease and stroke.  
•type-2 diabetes.

A message in his vision prompted up, as if he didn't already know. He had looked at that damned list for far too many times in the past three years. Connor knew the entire goddamn article by heart and he hated himself for it. Hated Hank for it.

Because it was the old man's fault, and it was his diet's fault, but it was also Connor's fault, because he hadn't insisted enough, hadn't managed to convince him to make healthier choices. The Android had taken bullets for his partner, yet had failed to protect Hank from himself. If Connor hadn't been the one to mourn the man even years after his death, the Android would've almost found the situation laughable. A bad joke, a horrible example of what inefficiency and impulsiveness meant.

But to him, it wasn't laughable. It was painful, always so painful, because it wasn't just Hank's fault. It was his fault as well. Connor should've done something, but he hadn't. And that made his stomach twist in the most unsettling of ways, like something hooked deep inside his wires that tugged at them.

"Hey, look, I was joking. Healthy is fine by me, I didn't mean to be an unthankful prick." (Y/n) interrupted his thoughts, looking sightly worried. Only then Connor noticed her hand set atop his on the steering wheel.

"No, that...I...I'm not..."


	7. Chapter 7

"Slow down." (Y/n) spoke softly, brushing the back of her hand over his knuckles. "And pull over." 

She pointed to an empty parking lot on the side of the road. Connor, in spite of his deviancy, still had been designed to take orders from humans. He supposed that was why (y/n)'s approach worked.

Connor gradually lifted his foot off the gas pedal until the car slowed down enough for him to maneuver it into the parking lot. He brought it to a halt, then let himself fall backwards into his seat.

"I apologize." He whispered, taking his hands both off the staring wheel and out of (y/n)'s gentle hold.

"It's okay. I'm the one who-" She began

"No, I...it had nothing to do with you." The Android explained. "I just— I remembered my old partner again."

"Hank, was it?" She asked. "You wanna talk about him?"

"No, I...you probably don't have the time or disposition to do so. And I'd hate to ruin the mo-"

"Connor, if there is one thing I have plenty of right now, it's time." She assured him, slipping her feet out of her shoes and shifting to sit on the car seat cross-legged. "I'm here to listen."

For a second, he almost wanted to smile. In utter bliss and happiness, because finally, finally someone was there for him. Even if it was just for a short amount of time, it was bliss.

"He died of a heart attack. In his sleep." The Android explained, his voice faltering and gaze dropping to stare at his hands. "And I...I didn't do anything. I found him in the morning, and I...I couldn't..."

He gritted his teeth, jaw clenching, ashamed of showing emotions. He was a machine, he wasn't designed to handle feelings. He wasn't designed to mourn, or feel sad—otherwise he should've been able to control himself, right? 

But then again, what had he been designed to do? Hunt deviants? Well, technically yes. But ironically enough, he had become one. He really had no purpose after all, did he? He was useless. A failure.

Oh god, and then there was (y/n). She was so perfect and kind and understanding and wonderful, and she was offering to listen to him, and he didn't even know where to start. What to tell her. There was so much going through his mind, it almost felt like a string that had thousands of knots in it, to the extent where one couldn't even tell where it started and ended.

"Breathe, there's no rush." (Y/n) instructed, and Connor was more than thankful that she had interrupted his thoughts. "We can take a walk around the parking lot if you want to. Or just stay, either is fine."

A walk did sound good. Something to take his mind off of the fact that his brain was going haywire.

"Let's go." Connor nodded and unlocked the car doors, eagerly stepping outside.

By the time he had exited, so had (y/n), walking over to him before he could even process it.

"Your hands are shaking." She remarked.

"I'm sorry." Connor mumbled and shoved them into his pockets.

"No, no, don't be. There's nothing to be sorry for. Here, gimme your hands." She extended her own, palms turned upwards, waiting for his own.

Reluctantly, Connor placed his hands in hers, which didn't exactly work since his were a tad bigger, but he didn't mind, since (y/n) gripped them softly and started stroking over his knuckles with her thumb.

"Now sync your breaths with mine." She started inhaling and exhaling more audibly, as if to help him hear her. Not like Connor really needed that—he could clearly track the rhythm of any human breathing without too much of a hassle. Her effort was appreciated nonetheless, causing warmth to spark inside the Android's chest. His mind went quiet for a few seconds, and it was bliss.

"There you go." (Y/n) cooed after a few seconds. She smiled at him warmly. "You got it all sorted out? I can wait of you haven't, take your time."

"I do." Connor spoke, trying to believe his own words. 

"Okay. You can tell me if you want to." (Y/n) assured him.

Connor went silent, searching his mind for the right words. And hoping that he wouldn't be judged, that (y/n) really would provide the emotional comfort he was desperate after.

"I...when Hank died, I couldn't- I couldn't accept the fact that he was gone, forever. I didn't want to. So I kept his corpse where I had found it. In his bed. And for two days, I continued making him food, and going into sleep mode every night, hoping he would wake up when I did. I was so...scared of being alone."

"It's okay to be scared. It's not your fault."

Connor knew she meant well, but he already knew that it was highly unlikely for her to stay interested in helping him. (Y/n) had things to do and also had a life worth living, and he was certain she'd stop caring at one point. That was, if this whole thing wouldn't end along with their roadtrip, of course.

"Do you want a hug?" She positioned herself in front of him and smiled empathetically.

And Connor really did want to be egoistic. To feel that warmth again, after three long years. So he gave in.

"Please." He whispered, and (y/n) complied immediately, wrapping her hands around his neck.

He had to lower himself to fit in her arms, but he didn't mind. Connor was just happy to feel a human's embrace again, and to bask in the sentiment of someone caring about him. Even if it would only last for a few seconds. Even if it would hurt after she left. He just couldn't refuse physical contact, in spite of everything he was aware of. In spite of the clear logic that spoke against what he was doing.

Her palms running up and down his back, and the way she smelled of faded perfume, and how she was so soft and inviting—Connor could only describe it as bliss.

"It's all gonna be okay." (Y/n) whispered, and for a second, Connor really did believe her.


	8. Chapter 8

Only an hour later, the two of them were already in Connor's car again.

(Y/n) was sitting cross-legged on the passenger's seat, scribbling down quotes inside the notebook Connor had bought. He would try to sneak a look at what she was writing from time to time, but she'd always be quicker, covering the page with her hands.

"You get to see it once it's done." She would say cheekily, then resume her activities once Connor would look away.

After about 12 minutes, she finally put down her pen, then leaned back in her chair. "Well, that's everything I could think off from the top of my head."

"May I look at it now?"

"Don't read and drive, Connor!" (Y/n) responded with fake worry in her voice. "I mean, I'm not done yet anyways."

"But you said-"

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean we won't keep looking for new quotes." The young woman argued, slithering her hand between their seats. "Can I have a look at your music? If you don't mind, of course."

"Just don't put on Knights of the Black Death, please."

"Your wish is my command. Let's see what you got."

Connor only heard rustling from between their seats as he turned his attention back to the road, waiting for (y/n) to say something. And after a few minutes, she did.

"Now this, is what I call vintage." She smirked while looking over an album. "How old is this album? 30 years? 40?"

Inspecting it, she turned it over, glancing over the details written on its back.

"40. Oh my god, this is so old. Though my mom used to love it when she was a teen, I think. This band, I mean." She presented the album to Connor, who didn't even have to look at the back of it. A quick scan of its cover was enough for him to identify its release date, amount of songs, and artist.

Album name: Death of a Bachelor  
Artist: Panic! At the Disco  
Release date: Jan. 15th, 2016  
Tracks: 11

"Let's see what this baby's got!" (Y/n) smirked and put the cd inside the car radio. Connor noticed her bouncing in her seat impatiently and couldn't help but smile.

Tonight we are victorious,  
Champagne pouring over us  
All my friends were glorious   
Tonight we are victorious!

"This is a bop." (Y/n) decided, only 17 seconds into the song.

In spite of the song's rather quick and energetic nature, Connor had to admit that there was something electrifying about it, something that made him unable to resist drumming his fingers against the steering wheel.

So he agreed.

—

"Saying 'If you go out you might pass out in a drain pipe'  
Oh yeah, don't threaten me with a good time!" The young woman shouted out the last lyric, fist-pumping the air, accidentally punching the car's roof. Wincing in slight discomfort, she inspected her knuckles after the impact. "Whoops."

"Are you in pain?"

"Nah, don't worry." She shook her head and shrugged. "I swear, this album is like a drug. We've listened to it how many times now?"

"Just started our third time." Connor answered, still bobbing his head along to the rhythm of the song. "Up until now, I couldn't really understand why humans enjoy listening to something on repeat, but...I think...I can see why."

(Y/n) laughed softly. "You've been a deviant for how long now?"

"Twenty-one years." Connor answered promptly, watching her expression. He could only identify curiosity on her face, and was more than glad that she wasn't judging him. In spite of deviating over two decades ago, Connor had to admit that even up to that day, he still found himself in situations where he was reminded of his true, mechanical nature.

"Well, guess there's always something new to learn about being human, huh?" 

Connor couldn't help but smile while staring at the road ahead. How did he ever deserve to find someone like her? So understanding, soft, and gentle...such a wonderful person.

If Connor would have ever been able to daydream, he was almost certain that (y/n) would be the silhouette haunting his subconsciousness. With her voice, her smile, her assuring touches, and those eyes. It wasn't particularly their color Connor was drawn to, but the emotions that could practically be read off her even simplest gaze.

Maybe he wasn't designed to believe in fate or anything of the sort, but the warm tingling inside his gut made him want to. To believe that it was more than pure coincidence that had led him inside that diner. That made him find her.

"You are wonderful." He blurted out, not even realizing he had said it out loud until he found (y/n) staring at him weirdly.

"Wonderful?" She raised an eyebrow. "What's so wonderful about something as messy and incalculable as me?"

"Exactly that." The Android answered. "You're all the things I could never be. And that makes you...wonderful. And human."

"Thank you." She could only smile and gaze outside the window. Connor was almost in disbelief that he had actually managed to unintentionally fluster her. The Android even had to double-check her heart rate to convince himself that he did actually have this effect on (y/n).

It was almost too good to be true. Him, a machine, something so utterly disposable and replaceable, had actually made (y/n) nervous.

He couldn't help but drum his fingers against the steering wheel and shift in his seat.

"Oooh my Gooood. Connor! Connor, look at that!" (Y/n) tapped his arm, interrupting his train of thought and pointed to something outside her window. Curiously, Connor tilted his head, only to realize that they were driving past a field of sunflowers.

His eyes widened in surprise. He had seen sunflowers—a lot of times, actually, but this...seeing such copious amounts, swaying along to the soft summer breeze, it was possibly one of the most alluring sights Connor had ever observed.

"May we pull over?" He asked, looking back at (y/n) for approval.

She only grinned. "You read my mind."


	9. Chapter 9

"Come on!" She insisted, linking her arm with his and nodding in the direction of the sunflower field. She's utterly adorable when she's excited about something, Connor concluded while staring at her expression for just a few seconds more than necessary.

"The flowers aren't going anywhere, (y/n)." He explained, to which she huffed.

"But I am!" She giggled and let go of him, sprinting towards the field. Before Connor even had the chance to react, she had already disappeared between the tall flowers, her silhouette getting lost inside the green maze of stems.

"Wait! (Y/n)!" He shouted, but it was too late. She was long gone, only the soft rustling of leaves left behind.

Smiling to himself, Connor eagerly ran after her, the flowers hitting against his face and chest as he moved through the field, causing him to move his arms in front of his face to shield himself.

"(Y/n)?" He shouted again. "I hope you're aware that I was designed for chasing suspects! You don't stand a chance!"

Connor heard leaves rustling to his right, and quickly turned in that direction. Nothing. Or at least nothing he could see.

Where was (y/n)? 

Another rustle, this time, behind his back.

Spinning on his heels, Connor turned around, only to be greeted with empty greenery once again.

"I know you're nearby! Show yourself!" He demanded, putting on his most convincing tone.

To no avail.

Biting his lip to not make any noises, Connor began pacing around, listening for sounds and any other possible clues of (y/n)'s location.

Until a pair of arms wrapped around his neck, as well as two legs around his abdomen. Someone had thrown themselves onto his back, Connor concluded as he quickly managed to find balance.

His first instinct was to shove his elbow into his attacker's stomach, however he was stopped by (y/n)'s childish laugh against the back of his neck.

"Looks like the suspect caught you instead, detective." She blurted out, giggles following her sentence.

And then he laughed. Not because the situation was particularly comedic, or because of her words, but because for just a moment, he had felt nothing but pure bliss. Maybe it was the warmth of (y/n) against his back, or the way she played pretend, but Connor forgot. Completely forgot about everything else during that short amount of time, focusing on nothing else but how wonderful it felt to give in to and enjoy (y/n)'s little game.

He felt her place something on his head, to which he gripped her legs and helped her get off his back, then reached up to his hair to inspect whatever she had put there.

Connor found himself holding a sunflower, its stem bent so that it would form a circle and clumsily tied behind the flower, forming something strikingly similar to a huge ring with the bloom as the jewel.

"What is this?" He asked, holding it out to (y/n), who wore a copy of that creation on her head.

"A flower crown." She answered, readjusting her own before taking Connor's out of his hands and tiptoeing to place it back on his head. "For the flower prince."

Connor smiled at her puerilely, lowering his head to allow her to adjust it.

"I thought I was a detective, and not a flower prince." He answered with a tinge of irony — something he had picked up from Hank.

(Y/n) only shook her head in amusement, brushing some of Connor's locks that had fallen out of his usual hairdo back into place.

"You can be both." She answered and took a step back to admire him. The Android noticed that her crown hung diagonally across her hair, some of the petals clumsily reaching just above her eyes.

"Really?" Connor asked and closed the distance between them, picking the crown up and correcting its position on the girl's head, a satisfied sigh slipping past his lips once he had done so. As he took his hands away, he couldn't resist taking a strand of her hair and twirling it between his fingers, admiring the texture, and the way she looked up at him through her lashes, a cheeky smirk on her lips.

"Really." 

Connor found himself lowering his face towards (y/n)'s, some of his black strands falling back out again and tickling her forehead. He could feel her soft, quick breath fan over his cheeks as he admired her. Soft skin, soft lips, soft hair—everything about her was so vulnerable and sensitive and human. Time seemed to be slowing down, nothing but himself and her and those clumsy, half-assed flower crowns on Connor's mind. 

Until she reached her hand up and placed a finger on his nose. "Boop."

Blinking in confusion, Connor took a step back, only to realize that (y/n) was trotting back in the direction of his car.

"Where are you going?" He asked, catching up with her.

"Where do you want to go, flower detective?" She turned her head to look at him over her shoulder, then opened the car's door and plopped down on the passenger's seat.

"I..." Connor walked around the vehicle, settling down behind the steering wheel. "I don't know."

"Well, let's see. Tell me about your favorite spot."

He furrowed his brows, searching his mind for one. There was...well, there was the bridge Hank had pulled a gun on him once. They had continued visiting it often after that, but Connor wasn't sure if that counted. It wasn't neither a particularly fun, nor interesting place. Just...a bridge. Though that seemed to be the only option that came to mind. "I think I have one. Though I don't-" 

"I'll follow you anywhere, flower detective." (Y/n) assured him with a sincere smile and a pat on his left shoulder. "Well, as long as it's not like...on another continent or something."

"It's a long drive." Connor explained.

"We've got nothing but time."


	10. Chapter 10

"Would you want me to tell you where we're going?" Connor asked for the third time since they had begun their drive back to Detroit, however (y/n) only shook her head and focused on writing things inside the Quote Compendium.

"We're driving back to Detroit, right?"

"Yes."

"Well, I'm fine with knowing just that." She huffed and leaned back in her seat, tapping the pen against an empty notebook page. "Though I could try guessing where we're going, if you give me clues."

"It's a pretty empty place."

"The junkyard?"

"No."

"Uuuh...a bar?"

"No."

"A shitty neighborhood."

"No."

"An...insane asylum?"

"No."

She sighed, then shrugged her shoulders. "Give me another clue."

"It provides a good view over Detroit."

"No idea." (Y/n) shook her head and closed the Compendium. "A ferris wheel or something?"

"No."

"Ugh, goddamnit. Another clue."

"You'd be a terrible detective." Connor answered, unable to refrain from smiling when he looked at (y/n), and how silly her appearance was. Her features were formed into a thoughtful frown, and the flower crown on her head had tipped downwards again.

"Well, that's why I'm not one." She bit her lip, something that made Connor's insides tingle, and somehow...gave him the urge to bite his own as well. "Another clue."

Taking a deep breath to regain his almost lost composure, Connor added: "It has to do with water."

"Lake?"

"No."

"Oh my god." She grunted in frustration. "I give up."

"Do you want me to tell you?" Connor asked with a sly smile. (Y/n) opened her mouth to say something before her eyes settled on his smug expression. She furrowed her brows, fists clenching in determination.

"No, that would mean I failed!"

"Alright." He looked back at the road, calculating the fastest route back to Detroit as he continued talking. "Care to try again?"

"Yeah." She nodded her head and started playing with her hands in her lap. "Okay, let's see. You said it's quiet, and that it provides a good view over Detroit. And that it has to do with water. Uuuh...a bridge?"

"Yes."

"Yes?" She looked at him with wide eyes, then bounced in her seat as soon as Connor gave her another nod of confirmation. "I guessed it! Ha, I guessed it! See, I'd be a decent detective after all."

Connor could only huff in amusement, unable to resist her contagious laughter.

—

"Is this the place?" (Y/n) asked, uncrossing her legs and putting on her shoes. It had been a good few hours since they had decided to drive back to Detroit, but they had made it right on time: it was 11 pm, and the city was as lively as ever.

(Y/n) unlocked her door and stepped outside, and Connor followed suit. From the goosebumps forming on (y/n)'s skin, he could only guess that the temperature had gotten rather chilly.

Their shoes pattered against dry, cold asphalt as the both of them hurried to the bridge. The girl leaned her elbows against the railing as she waited for Connor to join her.

The Android reached the railing only seconds after her, and decided to prop his forearms against it and take a deep breath to cool his system.

"Woah." She spoke up, taking in the sight in front of her, then quickly reached for Connor's arm, patting it to get his already received attention. "Look, Connor."

"I know." He answered, quite enjoying the way her arm linked with his as she continued watching the flickering of the harlequin city lights, and the way they looked like an oil painting as they reflected on the water's surface. 

The Android couldn't deny that the city was absolutely stunning, and yet he couldn't pry his gaze away from (y/n). The way all the neon colors settled on her face and neck, painting her face with almost every shade imaginable made him want to brush his fingers over her skin.

"This place is wonderful." She took a deep, exhausted breath and leaned the side of her head against Connor's shoulder. "Thank you for bringing me here."

"You're very welcome." He said, though his voice-box seemed to be malfunctioning, nothing but a whisper coming out. "I...used to spend a lot of time here before."

She went silent for a few seconds, then took her head off of Connor's shoulder. He was already missing the contact between them.

"Before what?"

Those words sounded oddly familiar, even though they came from a person he had only known for roughly 48 hours.

"Before Hank died." He answered with unusual ease. The ache in his chest was still there, but it wasn't...strangulating, or overwhelming. It felt like he could live with it. Like the stinging of a slowly healing wound, it was there, but it was bearable.

"So you've never visited this place after he died?"

"It felt like I was intruding on something that didn't really belong to me." Connor tried to explain. "And it was a part of my past that didn't have to do with grief. I didn't want to ruin it with my emotions."

"Are you still scared?"

"Scared...no, not scared. Guilty, maybe." He sighed and rubbed his hands together. "Or at least I always thought I would feel that way, but...I don't."

"Then don't." She shrugged her shoulders. "Don't force yourself to feel something. That's not how it works. And there is nothing to feel guilty about."

How did she always know exactly what to say? Connor could've sworn it had to be some sort of supernatural power, but them again, maybe he was just bad at being human. 

"Thank you, (y/n)."

"What for?" She smiled gently, though her eyes were watching him carefully.

"Everything." Connor bit his lip. "For always knowing exactly what to say."

"Well, if we're at it, then thank you for this adventure, Connor." She added. "Do you have an idea for our last roadtrip location?"

Connor urged his processors to work faster, searching his memory for any suggestions.

And he blamed his sudden idea on the fact that when (y/n) was around, he felt invincible. And that it was about time he did something against his irrational fear.

"Could we...visit my old friend's grave?"


	11. Chapter 11

"So, you've never visited his grave?" She asked while stepping inside the graveyard with, as Connor observed, some hesitation.

"No. I couldn't...I didn't even go to his funeral. I just couldn't." The Android stumbled over his own words, following her inside the area.

The air around him seemed to thicken, and somehow, his internal cooling system stopped working. Yet Connor felt unbearably...cold. He was stepping through the area, the soles of his shoes squeaking against the fresh, dewy grass. It had undoubtedly rained there a few hours ago, Connor concluded.

The Android came to a slow halt as he reached a spot where both him and (y/n) had a decent outlook over most tombstones. He began scanning the area, looking for Hank's name, slowly spinning on his heels.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but why?" (Y/n) spoke up, causing Connor to stop moving a tad too suddenly. He mentally repeated her words, frowning as he struggled to realize what she meant.

A few seconds of furious thinking later, he gave up and decided to ask her, while also resuming his previous scanning activities.

"What why?" Connor mumbled absentmindedly, going through hundreds of names per second.

"Why you didn't ever visit him. For three years."

There. To his southwest, fifty meters away. That was Hank's grave.

Both her words and the fact that he had, for the first time, laid eyes on Hank's grave acted against his usually calm, collected nature.

"Is this supposed to make me feel guilty?" He answered defensively, then took a deep breath. "Sorry, that was inadequate. I...I don't know. I really don't."

She sympathetically rubbed his shoulder and was kind enough to change the subject without him requesting her to. "Did you find it?"

"Yes. Follow me." Connor nodded in the direction of his old friend's grave.

(Y/n) silently trotted behind him as he guided her towards it. Only meters away from it, Connor's legs stopped moving. His entire body did, as well as a deep, heavy ache, as if he had swallowed a boulder settled in his metaphorical stomach. He couldn't- He really couldn't. He shouldn't have come there. He had no right to be there, especially not after refusing to visit Hank for three years and not even attending his funeral. Connor considered himself a horrible...person. Or at least a deviant with a horrible personality. If Hank was still alive, the old man would've despised him. For his cowardliness and lack of loyalty. Connor had no right to be there.

"That's him, right? Hank Anderson." (Y/n) appeared beside him, breathing a bit louder than usual since they had to walk up a hill.

Connor nodded.

"Well then." The young woman smiled gently and took his hand in hers, intertwining their fingers. "Ready?"

Giving her hand a squeeze seemed to help diminish Connor's invasive thoughts, so he did it before taking a deep breath and stepping forward. Once, twice, multiple times. Until he was roughly 50 centimeters away from his final destination.

He stopped beside the grave. The stone was dusty, with stains of dirty raindrops on it, and wilted flowers on top. No-one had visited Hank in a long time.

And neither had Connor. He hadn't fulfilled his duty as a friend.

He parted his lips to speak, to apologize, or say anything at all, but his thoughts were as dry as Hank's tombstone. He wanted to tell his old friend so many things, and yet couldn't even form a proper sentence.

He was left even more confused when he felt (y/n) stroke his cheek with the back of her hand before reaching up to his hair.

She retracted her hands only seconds later, holding the sunflower that had been made into a crown. She untied the knot, straightened out the stem, then repeated the procedure with her own flower.

Connor saw her pluck out one petal from each before she placed them on Hank's grave.

" 'When man could endure life no longer, death came and set him free.' That's by Mark Twain." Connor bit his lip as (y/n) turned to look at him. "He's free, Connor. And so should you be. There is nothing to feel guilty about. It's not your fault. None of it is, was, or ever will be."

For the first time in three years, it felt like he was breathing. Like the shackles around his wrists had been taken off, like he had just emerged from underwater after a long time.

And (y/n) was the very source of it. She was his air, the key to his shackles, his freedom.

Connor had never been so positively sure about anything in his life - until then. He adored (y/n). In every single sense of the word.

"Thank you."

"My pleasure, flower prince." She smiled softly and gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "I'll be in the car if you need me."

-

That was exactly where he found her: sitting cross-legged on the passenger's seat, Quote Compendium in her lap as she scribbled in it furiously.

"Do you think we could drive back?" She asked while Connor sat down beside her.

"Where to?"

"Tomorrow's Sunday, and I need to get back to the Diner by 6 AM." She explained with a tired yawn.

"I can bring you there." Connor confirmed. "You get some rest."

"Thank you." She reached for the pillow on the backseat, laid back, and closed her eyes.

Connor conducted a quick scan, only to realize that her breathing and heartbeat had already slowed down. She was fast asleep already.

-

5:45 AM  
August 6th

"We've arrived, (y/n)."

She only yawned in response, then slowly opened her eyes. Beautiful. Everything about her was so agonizingly perfect, and Connor just hated the fact that these were their last moments together. Of course there'd be promises of keeping in touch, but the Android knew better than that. She hadn't even given him her number, or any other means of contacting her.

"What time is it?"

"Almost 6 am."

"Perfect timing." She stretched and smiled at him drowsily, removing the pillow from around her neck. "Thank you. For everything."

She was thankful? The Android found that to be borderline laughable. How could she feel that way when she was the one that had helped him oh-so much?

"I should be the one to thank you." He answered, leaning back in his seat. (Y/n) was silent, but her smile had widened. "This is the end, isn't it?"

"Well, if you want it to be, then sure." She placed the notebook she had been holding in his lap, then opened the door, stepping outside. She threw a glance over her shoulder. "But it doesn't have to be."

With one last wave of her hand, she jogged over to the diner's main entrance, then stepped inside, out of Connor's field of vision.

The Android could only dumbly stare at where he had last seen her, replaying her words in his head.

"I doesn't have to be." He whispered to himself, then opened the Quote Compendium, flipping through the notebook. Ungodly amounts of words were written on every page, and Connor couldn't help but raise his brows in astonishment. His scan counted a total of roughly 126 quotes.

He stopped at the last quote she had scribbled, where he found two yellow petals between the notebook's pages.

"It is good to have an end to journey towards, but is the journey that matters in the end." -Ernest Hemingway

Want to continue ours?

Below that, Connor found her number. Sly little thing she was.


End file.
